The Musical Testament

This is a musical testament. "Our station," adds Sterling Poe, who saunters in with a beach towel jabbed into her ears, "was wenched out of Gabriel's resurgent drive to build an empirical soundscape which more clearly defines reality for himself than any of those other failed venues he has tried, and as such, works to inform and organize his own schematic born of experience, note for note, thought for thought, near and ancient, detourning all media products sold to him as the defining matrix of his life, as a citizen, as a fan, as a writer and broadcaster, reconstructing them as his own mental DNA."

"Of course, this mystified model of the musical life as one's dominate experience is inherently flawed, imperfect, incomplete. But it patches neatly into his original concept of himself as a passionate observer of his own scrappy world trapped in unobliging flesh and disinterested time, brokered only by those crude artistic energies driving him toward the final regurgitation. That's where Fatz comes in."

"While music and literature, when interpreted jointly, is the primary force he transmogrifies, reinvents, infuses with that patented uncontainable Fatz Bullwinkle joy, gluttony sustains the art of genre consumption and thus, still leaves something unsaid, undone, unprocessed. The particular task of recreating a unique and interesting juxtaposition of tagged influences helps identify the relationship, in this case, created between a solitary man and his chosen arts while still wearing the mantle of an unrepentant fan, but yearning for an escape from the addiction, a queer product of his own inaudible past cross-dissolving into the barely audible momentum of a non-specific future. And he chooses to expose others to that dynamic crucible, so that the conquering, the overcoming, the transcendence of middle and muddle may someday begin..."

The threat of global extinction compels the question. Who are we as Americans? Are we satisfied with ourselves and all our possessions as others starve and die? Our inner life based mostly on an outer one? Our transient good looks? Our precious decomposing books? Are you and I as Americans striking back at something so complex we just can't put a name to it? Need a consequential edge? Already boast one? If you find yourself drawn to us, carry on, for you are revolutionary patriots, born of an age that needs you. If you are the RIAA you may try and pull the whole damned wonderful plug on all us petty nickel and dime broadcasters out here still buying and preserving our beloved music. But we are soldiers, sir...

...reporting this very hour for Revolution Number 9, marching among the scorched roses and pandemonium poses of both fair and foul populations, among their prophets and their peacemakers. Revolution Number 9 has arrived with brigades of burning angels flaming the fives, giving voices and more choices to the next generation of citizen, long may they run.

Icarus Tull says, "Give us your ears and your minds. In turn, we'll eventually pitch you something you can hit out of the park." Crisply sinister Icarus is from Philadelphia and likes to eat his vegetables raw and razor thin only to gnaw on dead men's bones for hours afterwards. He is also left-handed, the oldest of four brothers and four sisters, decidedly anti-revolutionary, but lurking here on the swill just the same. Usually works into the first five minutes of an initial conversation with a stranger that he was created on the third day by R.F. Laird's 1991 literary sensation " The Boomer Bible".

But Fatz insists on hammering home the point. "America is clearly broken, but she deserves a conscientious mending, not imminent destruction, as some would have it. It's time to understand that America and the west is under seige by an imperialistic cult held together by many deceivers, great and small. Blaming America for the whole planet's sins real or imagined solves nothing while ignoring her very real enemies from within and without, very determined enemies basking in their own sins and evil intentions. Further up this long road leading to utopian bliss you can bet the next boss won't be as good to you as this old boss has been. Look around the globe, MAN. Study the situation without blinders, right-wing or left. Fact is, we must each do all we can within our own personal orbits to tame this unquenchable beast now preying upon both the strong and the weak among us or that same beast will devour us without apology. By streaming a few hours from the Radio Scenewash "no holds barred" broadcast, you open a sanctuary for that new poly-American poly-universal patriot, that indigenous patriot who knows the difference between zero and nothing, myth and misfit, worthy noise and worthless glory. It is our belief that a "healthy" Americanism is yet our best bet to thwart the ever-threatening global holocaust predicted by many cultures from the past.

"Our airwaves are priceless treasure worth prying free from the corporate invaders' tightly gloved fists. We, the so-called mushy middle classes always in flux must now become increasingly radicalized as compassionate but responsible centrists who dare voice our repugnance for the pros and semi-pros fueling the well-established fighter jets of the Left and Right arrogant classes, that is to say, the established political classes, who rape and pillage the earth, its people, its hopes and in the bargain, contaminate the only genuine path into the future."

"We can brace for the next aggressive wave of gonzoid American politics to be conducted, or we can wave goodbye to the opportunity. It's always time to GET INFORMED about the world you desire even as it is constrained within the world you fear. As a practical matter, read more about the Internet broadcaster's struggle here. While some may despise our mixing the myriad of musical genres we will broadcast, others may loathe the emergence of politics in one form or another in "nearly" every song, but we have no choice. Life is dangerous. Life is sacred. But it's a political world. The Radio Scenewash Network is a piece of history, a personal soundscape. But it is just one man's past. Trust no one. Trust yourself. Do what you do, know why you're doing it, because you're the [only] one, the one who must pay the price of relevance with your own words, actions, calculations, and drifting...for we are witnesses, ear close to the tracks where ignorance and virtue suck on the same straw, witnesses to the knowledge that within the calculus of blind luck and inveterate losses, GOD (Whatever and Whenever) rules with a flaming sceptre! I am but a straw man. Yet wasn't it Jim Carroll who remarked that "rock-n-roll is the pied piper leading to the apocalypse..."

"When Gabriel was a strapping lad flocking among other strapping lads and bolder, older women, he fronted an imaginary punk band called G.O.D. - a band that tore up the mole hills and monkey halls he found himself serving without regard to sycophancy or pride, an activity which repeatedly got him banned from both the DC under- and over-worlds in the race to conformity that always leaves its mark on the forehead. Hence the evolution of this website's idea of the radical middle, the progressive centrist. The remnants and residuals of Gather Or Divide still inform our fighting spirit (nee Thomas Paine's Common Sense and Age of Reason). This radio station and web site exemplify the notion that all spectacular ambitions get what they deserve once flipped, complete with ugly but fascinating battle scars to prove one's participation in the only history that truly counts - your own. Right? You've got figure it out yourself, but the double-edged blade severing the past from the future has never been static in swing, and now that it's aimed sharply at you, the audience, take in a mighty earful and then give us a shout to let us know how we're doing...